Disclaimer: Scooby-Doo, The Matrix, and all associated characters, names, and concepts are the property of their respective copyright holders. Not me.
In a nondescript corner of America, the nondescript Mega City spread across countless acres, its nondescript skyscrapers towering like concrete fingers reaching for the sky. Its wide streets and freeways were alive with traffic, streams of nondescript cars bearing nondescript people to their nondescript jobs and their nondescript houses. The sun was shining and the wind whirled through the office towers, and in the lanes below an unusually distinctive van picked its way through traffic.
Its entire surface was a wash of psychedelic colors, a green and purple and pink assault on the senses. On the one side, someone had painted "Mystery Machine" in large bubbly letters. In and hanging over the front seat, four cheerful-looking teens and a gangly Great Dane peered through the windshield at the mountainous buildings and the storm of traffic.
"I still can't believe Mary Sue got us tickets to Club Hel's new year party!" exclaimed Daphne, a tall redhead in a sweater dress and green scarf.
"Me either," replied the driver, a blonde man in a white sweater and bellbottom jeans. "It's the best and most exclusive roller disco in this state!"
"Like, you almost forgot, Freddy!" The speaker, a thin man with scruffy hair and beard stubble, leaned over the front seat as he interjected, "You almost forgot about the authentic French food!" The dog bounced up and down in the back seat, licking his lips excitedly.
"French food at a roller disco?" Velma wiped her glasses on her sweater. "Now I've heard everything!"
"Here we are," said Fred, pulling the van into an underground parking lot. "Everybody got their tickets?"
It was still light out, but the parking lot was already almost full. The walls were bare, with a whitewash that was slightly soot-stained and chipping in places, and the parking lot's columns cast long shadows across the floor. At the bottom of the stairs, the group found themselves at the end of a long line waiting for entry. At the front of the line was an elevator with dented metal doors. Three club workers stood before the elevator, checking tickets.
Shaggy exclaimed, "I can't wait! This is gonna be more fun than Mardi Gras!" Scooby lashed his tail and barked his assent.
"Patience, you two!" Daphne joked.
The doors were guarded by a tall, imposing man, his head clean-shaven and his eyes hidden behind a pair of stylish sunglasses. "Five tickets?" he counted, his voice deep and gravelly. "No problem. Enjoy your visit to Club Hel." He ushered them into the elevator along with a few others, and the now-packed box headed for the bottom floor.
"Isn't this awfully far down for a roller disco?" There was a slight hint of nervousness in Shaggy's voice.
"It's just their gimmick," Fred explained. "When they call themselves an underground club, they mean it."
"It's not like it's some dark, spooky cave anyway," Velma added.
But the coat check room was a mostly-blank space, its high ceiling checkerboarded with fluorescent lights that were somewhat dimmer than necessary, and the effect was rather like a cave. More club employees in either dark suits or eclectic mismatched clothes buzzed around, collecting coats and handing out numbers on squares of paper, but shied away from the gang when they realized none of them were wearing a coat. They maneuvered through the throng towards the entrance to the nightclub. As Fred pushed the double doors open, Shaggy and Scooby jostled two people standing in the shadows next to the check counter.
The teen and the dog stopped and eyed the pair cautiously. They were a man and a woman, both very tall, both with short hair slicked back close to their heads. They wore black from head to toe, she in tight leather and he in functional cotton, and both had long, billowing black overcoats that reached to their knees. The woman was talking on a cell phone, and paused to eye Shaggy and Scooby equally cautiously.
"Like, sorry!" Shaggy smiled apologetically.
"Yeah, sorry!" Scooby wagged his tail invitingly.
The tall man adjusted his square-rimmed sunglasses impassively. "Don't worry about it."
"Come on, you two!" Velma called them from inside the club. "You're missing the roller disco!" They turned and scurried after her.
The man and woman in black exchanged puzzled glances. "Maybe it's just this place and its weird code," she said, "but I could have sworn that dog just talked to us."
"Surely not!" he said.
"Talking dogs?" the voice on the other end of her phone said. "Are you two feeling okay? Do you want me to pull you out now?"
"No, Tank, we're fine," she replied. "We'll let you know what we find."
"Good luck, Trinity." She hung up, and they merged with the stream of people entering the club.
"Are you really sure that dog wasn't talking to us?" Trinity asked.
"Well . . ." Neo paused, scanning the tables, the people skating around the dance floor, and the spinning mirror ball. "That just wouldn't make any sense."
"Because all this," and she gestured at the people skating around the dance floor and the spinning mirror ball, "makes so much sense?"
"Good point, Trin."